Phantom of the Death Star
by Operatastic SuperSop
Summary: In a world where Raoul, Christine, and Erik get sucked into the world of Star Wars and meet Glinda the Good Witch of the North...chaos ensues, of course. Taking parody suggestions to incorporate.
1. Phantom of the Death Star

**Summary**: What would happen if Erik, Raoul and Christine got sucked into Star Wars? A rather long, strange, but hilarious, one-shot.

**disclaimer**: I don't own either Star Wars or the Phantom of the Opera... or the Wizard of Oz. In other words, all these characters are not mine.

**The Phantom of the Death Star**

The big automatic door swished open, and Monsieur Raoul le Vicomte de Chagny entered, light saber in hand.

In the past half hour, he had been sucked here by some mysterious force (it always works that way) that brought him to a place called "Death Star" (homey sounding place). He was filled in by some blonde guy with a big, glowing sword. His friends were pretty creepy, too, especially the furry one they called "Chewbacca". That one especially freaked Raoul out a little. To make matters worse, while the blonde guy—Raoul thought he said that his name was "Luke"—was explaining everything to his French nineteenth century brain in English, Luke was vaporized. Comforting.

Panicking, he did the one thing he could do: he grabbed the saber and ran as though a mountain lion was coming after him.

Christine was even less enthused. She was brought here by the force too. The two women (the other being Princess Lea) took one look at each other and said simultaneously, "Nice hair," both being sarcastic, and both "hmphed" indignantly. Princess Lea was then vaporized, which freaked out Christine (but it was hard to say that she was sad to see her go), and she followed after Raoul after grabbing Lea's gun, not even knowing how to work it, and ran.

The two left the crazy robots, Bigfoot, and that other man (Han Solo, who apparently flew everyone here on some contraption called "The Millennium Falcon") behind to deal with the controls and such. Raoul and Christine were merely interested in getting back to the Opera Populaire, and frankly could care less about what happened on the Death Star.

Before the light sucked them up like dust into a vacuum cleaner, Raoul had been bound and tied in the Phantom's lair in a failed attempt to save Christine. Erik had just said, "You try my patience? Make your choice!" to Christine. Before anyone had a chance to react, they had been transported to this mass chaos. Christine had made her decision by now, but she had no way of telling Erik.

"Undoubtedly," Raoul muttered to her, "he's here somewhere. We only need to find this... Darth Vader character."

"What does he look like?"

"Dresses head to toe in black, wears a mask to hide deformed face..."

"Sounds familiar," she said. "How can we tell them apart?"

"He possesses a powerful 'force' that only the 'Jedi Knights' use, whatever that may mean. Luke said he could strangle us all from a distance--"

"He doesn't use Punjab lassos too, does he?"

"Um, Luke couldn't quite explain it to me. He got vaporized."

"Oh, yeah."

Just then, a bunch of Storm Troopers arrived.

"What do we do now?" Christine whispered through clenched teeth.

"Uh... uh... uh," Raoul stammered.

"Fire at will!" said one.

"WAIT, WE SURRENDER!" Raoul shouted, falling to his knees and putting his hands behind his head.

"You're a Jedi. You have a saber. We don't take them alive."

"I don't even know what a 'Jedi' is! I just want to go back to France!"

"Oh, we'll send you back, buddy. We'll blast you until kingdom come!"

Christine fainted, dropping the gun (it was a rather fruitless endeavor to even pick it up to begin with). The troops took her prisoner, and oddly enough forgot all about Raoul (singing, "_Track down those Jedi! They must be killed!_"). Raoul wasn't about to give up Christine without a fight, however.

_Use the force, Luke_, said a voice in Raoul's head, that sounded like an old man.

"What? Are you Christine's Angel of Music? You dare to sing songs in my head?"

_Does it sound like I'm singing? _he asked with irritation. _And who's Christine?... wait, you're not Luke. Where's Luke?_

"Vaporized."

_Ooh_, the man's voice said. Raoul could sense him cringing. _Well, who are you?_

"I am Monsieur Raoul le Vicomte de Chagny, the patron of the Opera Populaire in Paris, France. Who on earth are you, mysterious disembodied senile male voice in my head?"

_I was Obi Wan Kanobi. I was killed by Darth Vader, my old apprentice—I let him do it so I could be more powerful._

Raoul stifled a laugh. "Obi Wan Kanobi? What kind of name is that?"

_Do you want to defeat Darth Vader or not?_

"I actually don't care about Darth Vader. I'm more interested in saving Christine and defeating Erik and going back to France, to the Opera Populaire. The Death Star hasn't been very... hospitable to my being alive."

_Why do you think they call it the Death Star? Because they want you alive? _The man sighed impatiently. _Look, I am a master of the force. You're not Luke, but I'll have to make due with what I've got. No time to train you, just take out your light saber and hack everything blindly. The force will guide you._

Raoul blinked. "That's the stupidest thing I ever heard."

_Just do it! _the man bellowed. Raoul's body was pushed forward by an unknown force, and he did as he said. All the Storm Troopers were soon on the floor, body parts singed and eschew (though their last, "_Track down those Jedi_!" resonated in the sterile-white halls).

"Ew," Christine said, having just come around, and she fainted again. Raoul put his light saber away and threw her unceremoniously over his shoulders.

Coming from down the corridor, he heard maniacal laughter and very loud breathing, which sounded almost like maniacal laughter, but it sounded more like static (if Raoul knew what static sounded like, he wouldn't have thought that the Phantom had unlocked the powers to the Ultimate Mechanical Punjab Lasso Machine or something).

_There they are! _ Obi Wan shouted._ Go!_

Raoul was pushed forward. He realized that this Obi Wan (seriously, what kind of name was that?) was controlling his body.

"Hey, this isn't fair! I don't take over your body!"

_That is because you are a weakling and easily succumb to Jedi mind tricks. You will never understand. Now, come on. Leave the girl here. She'll only get hurt where you're going._

Raoul reluctantly left the unconscious Christine outside the door (he had no control over his body, so he couldn't protest) and entered.

Inside, Raoul saw the worst thing possible: Darth Vader and Erik, having a modernized tea party.

"Really? That's interesting," Vader said, putting down his cup of tea (which he couldn't drink, anyway, as his mask wouldn't allow it). "I can't say I've ever been sucked anywhere by a mysterious force, but I can't say this hasn't happened before... those silly wormholes—wait. I sense there is a man... French... young... terrified... the force is with him, but he is greatly inexperienced... he's standing by the door, three inches away from the control panel."

Erik stood up, squinting at Raoul. "He's a fop. He can't do much."

"But he has my teacher with him, fop or no," Vader said, standing.

"I am _not_ a fop!" Raoul said indignantly. Inside his head, he heard Obi Wan slap his forehead and mumble something like "_hopeless_".

"Shut up!" Raoul shouted to Obi Wan.

The two masked men turned and faced him, thinking that Raoul was addressing them.

"You dare interrupt our parley!" Vader said. He clenched his fist. Raoul suddenly felt as though he was in a Punjab lasso again.

"You really must teach me how to do that," Erik said, admiring his work.

"And I shall, young apprentice... well, not so young." He clenched his fist tighter.

"Christine, forgive me!" Raoul sang in anguish, his throat tightening.

"Wait," Erik said, holding his hand up. "Let me dispatch him. You have nothing against him. The grudge is mine."

"Very well," he said, letting go. "I have a precariously placed platform over a bottomless pit that I was supposed to duel with Luke on out back. You two can go there and fight to the death."

"Thanks, Anakin."

"It's no trouble at all, Erik."

Erik and Raoul got to the platform and took fighting positions. It was like sword-fighting in the graveyard all over again, but on a dangerous platform with light sabers.

"To the death, you fop!" Erik said, taking out his red light saber.

"I am _not_ a fop!" Raoul said again.

"Then why is your saber pink?"

"Gah!" Raoul said, noticing it for the first time. "It's not my fault. It belonged to that Luke kid."

"Right," Vader scoffed, and sarcastically added, "and Luke's saber magically changed from green to pink. Come now, there are no fairies here."

"I don't know how to explain it! I just--"

"Raoul?"

"What?"

"Shut up," Erik said, holding out his saber. "And now, for Christine!"

The two dueled with their light sabers. Erik was guided by Vader, and Raoul was guided by Obi Wan. The two did a series of flips and other things that they couldn't normally do in this fight (as Jedi knights do, you know)—but the force was with them, thanks to their proud (or not so proud, in the case of Obi Wan) sponsors. Erik finally sliced off Raoul's hand.

"Join me, Raoul," he heard himself saying, oddly enough, "come to the dark side."

"Never," Raoul heard himself saying, cradling his arm, "you killed my father."

"No, Raoul," he said, standing above him, "I... am your father."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Raoul cried. Then he snapped out of it. "Wait, huh? _You're_ not my father! That's impossible!"

"You bet it is." Erik glared at Darth Vader.

"Sorry, fed you the wrong script," Vader said above.

"If you're going to use mind control, use it right," Erik replied indignantly.

_Ha, ha! Luke couldn't resist but take over you, too_, Obi Wan said inside Raoul's head.

_Hi, Raoul!_ said a voice that sounded like Luke's.

"Will you ever stop talking?" Raoul shouted, covering his ears, as though that would help stop the voices _inside_ his head (he soon realized that fallacy in logic and uncovered his ears). Vader and Erik took that as an insult to himself.

"Finish him off," Darth said, "before I do."

"No!"

Christine came onto the scene, and a disembodied chorus sang, and a mysterious light shone on her. Christine glared impatiently at Darth Vader.

"Come on, I never get to use that setting on my special effects box!"

Christine continued to glare at him. He sighed.

"Alright, you win..." he grumbled, turning off the chorus and the light. Christine then composed herself.

"I made my choice!"

Erik looked at her. He nodded to Vader, who held Raoul in an invisible Punjab. He wanted to have basically the same circumstances, considering the setting.

"Which is...?"

"Well, I'm going to sing to you and kiss you."

"Sounds good to me," Erik said, eagerly putting his light saber away.

"Christine, no!"

"Relax," she said. "I saw the movie. R2D2 had it on file. I know what will happen."

"What is a movie?"

"It's too complicated to explain right now."

"Whatever. This isn't the Opera Populaire!"

"Relax. It can't possibly have a different ending."

"Are you so sure? I mean, Erik just told me that he was his father!"

"THAT WAS THE WRONG SCRIPT! SHEESH!" Vader shouted, irritated.

"Yes, and I would never ask anyone but Christine to join me—especially you, on purpose," Erik said, disgusted at the thought of having to live with Raoul.

"But you—"

"Shut up. And you should be aware by now that your hand is still attached. It was Luke's prosthetic hand I cut off—how it got there, I don't know, but... you can stop whimpering about that now. If you haven't noticed, there is no blood."

"Oh," Raoul said, popping his real hand into place. "I wondered why there was no pain..."

"Everyone, shut up!" Christine shouted. She cleared her throat.

"_Pitiful creature of darkness_

_What kind of life have you known?_

_God give me courage to show you_

_You are not alone!_"

Christine kissed Erik.

"The horror! The horror!" Raoul shouted, trying to look away.

"Shut up!" Vader shouted to him. "You know, this brings back memories... Christine looks a lot like my wife. Oh, those were the good ol' days, when I was married... I kind of wrecked that a tad... now both my kids are dead and my wife..."

Erik now kissed Christine.

"...yeah, and that was the day I got my deformities, too.. I fell in a huge lava pit after leaving my wife _almost_ dead..."

"No one cares," Raoul said, trying to look away from the scene in front of him.

"Well, _excuse_ _me_, le Vicomte de Chagny, king of the world," Vader said sarcastically.

Erik and Christine stopped kissing.

"Let us be married, then!" Erik said, holding her eagerly.

"Say _what_?"

"Let us be married, then," he repeated. "There are no mobs here, and... you have an organ, right?"

"Er..." Vader trailed.

"What do you mean by 'er'?" Erik asked Vader, looking up at him gently letting go of Christine.

"Define 'organ'."

"Organ. Noun. Instrument similar to piano, with keys and pedals. Played to make music."

"Oh, _that_ kind of... um, well, you see, we don't have anything musical here."

"**_WHAT?!!!!!!!_**" Erik nearly fell off the precariously perched platform. "No music? How do you expect Christine and I to _live_ here?!!!!"

"Um... organs and pianos don't exist any more, and what does exist in its stead sounds terrible. We just did away with music around here, to save our hearing and our sanity."

"How could you possibly get rid of music?"

"Have you ever heard a synthesizer?"

"No."

"You are one very lucky man."

Erik fainted. Christine didn't take the news of the lack of music so hard.

"Free Raoul, and bring us back to the Populaire," Christine demanded of Vader.

Vader laughed his static laugh. "Who's going to make me, little lady? _You_?"

"Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn!" Christine said. She sang a very wrathful, Carlotta-like high note. It echoed painfully throughout the vacuous room. He covered his ears (Raoul did, too. Erik would've done the same and wondered where he had gone wrong, had he not been out cold on the floor).

"Ah! It burns, it BURNS!! Stop, stop, stop! AHHHH!!" Vader's mask and suit short circuited, and he tumbled backwards over the railing and fell down the bottomless pit.

"I'll be baaaaaaaack!" he shouted, tumbling, tumbling, tumbling...

"Poor man," Christine said, looking at the speck of him in the distance. "I should've kissed him, too."

"Christine," Raoul said, rubbing his neck and catching his breath, "you're going to marry _me_, remember?"

"Yes. I'm sorry you had to see that."

"All forgiven. And I understand what it's like with Erik for you, now. Obi Wan won't shut up, and Luke, too. They keep making French jokes inside my mind."

"Who is Obi Wan?" Christine asked, hoping he wouldn't say invisible friends.

"The stupid guy who won't stop telling me stuff like, 'use the force, Raoul,' and then joins Luke in laughing about France."

"Ok..." Christine said, freaked out, "let's just all head back to the Opera Populaire."

"Sure," Raoul said. He then stopped. "Uh, how do we do that?"

The two suddenly heard a giggling. They saw a pink bubble coming nearer to them.

"We're going to die! AHH!" Raoul said.

"Calm down, or you'll fall down the pit, too."

The pink bubble turned into this woman with a large pink dress, crown, and a huge wand with a star at the end of it.

"Who the heck are you?" Christine asked.

She giggled. "I am Glinda, the good witch from the North."

"Glinda? What is up with these names?!" Raoul shouted.

"Silence," she said with a sweetened smile. "Is that how you repay me, after I change your light saber to that beautiful color?"

"You—changed—"

She giggled. "Yes. Pink is lovely, isn't it? Anyway, the way to get out of here is simple... you had the power to leave all along!"

"We did?"

"Of course. The ruby red slippers you stole from the Wicked Witch of the East after landing a house from Kansas on her! Just click your heels three times and say, 'I wish I was home'."

The two stared at her.

"Right," she said, giggling. She was quite insane, and ditzy. "Sorry, I thought you were Dorothy...and you were the scarecrow... how did I end up here, instead of Oz? Oh, not again! This happens every Tuesday... Oh, I hope those ruby slippers sent her back to Kansas and not here!.. oh, no, that was a Wednesday that I sent her... I think. Oh, well! Anyway, I suppose Vader's shoes will do."

"Uh..." Christine said, looking down past her feet through the grated floor of the platform. Darth Vader's speck was now gone, though his voice was still slightly reverberating on the walls.

"Oh," Glinda said realizing what happened. "Well, then, who's the next best villain?"

Raoul and Christine slowly looked over at the fainted Erik.

"Ah, then he will do."

Christine looked at her pleadingly, hoping to touch her at the bond which only fellow women share. "Do I _have_ to wear _his_ shoes?"

"Yes," she said, slightly irritated, not touched in the least. Christine sighed, defeated. Glinda was beyond womanhood and well on her way into Bimboland, so no connection existed.

Glinda then giggled a little and regained composure. "It's the only way."

Christine bent down and took off Erik's shoes, and took off her own.

"'Take a walk in someone else's shoes,' they say," she scoffed. "I never planned on doing it literally."

She put the shoes on. Suddenly, her pleasant face changed into an angry frown.

"Fop!" she yelled at Raoul, and slapped him across the face. Raoul was shocked beyond belief.

"Oh, dear, that happens sometimes," Glinda giggled calmly. "The wearer of the shoes sometimes becomes the person who owns them. Well, when you two get home, take the shoes off and she'll return to normal."

_A task easier said than done,_ thought Raoul. _Hey, those two left my mind!_

_Think again, French lad! Ha, ha! I'm funny, Obi Wan. _

Raoul heard Obi Wan slap his forehead in his mind.

Glinda giggled and turned into a pink bubble, oblivious to the nature of the person Christine just turned into.

"You're leaving me?" Raoul asked, Christine now in the process of trying to strangle him barehanded (since she had no Punjab).

"Of course! I have the wonderful world of Oz to look after...however I get back... good luck!" She giggled and disappeared in the same pink bubble Raoul longed to pop.

Raoul thought quickly. Christine had realized that Erik always carried a spare Punjab lasso, and had just fetched it.

"I'll let you marry Christine if you click your heels and say, 'I wish I was home' three times," Raoul negotiated.

"Ha, fop!" she shouted, and shoved the Punjab lasso over his neck.

"I'm _not_ a fop!"

"Silence! For one, I am Christine... and Erik... we are already married by the fairy-witch power of the shoes. And two, I never want to go back to that horrible place!"

"_There's no music here_," Raoul sang lithely.

"I wish I was home," Christine said quickly, clicking her heels. She did it three times, and soon, all of them were back at the Opera Populaire.

Christine was dazed for three seconds after they returned. Raoul quickly made a move for the shoes and tossed them aside, and quickly took the lasso off. She immediately became normal.

"Whoa, that was so weird," Christine said. "Never make me wear anyone else's shoes ever again!"

"I won't, my schnookums!"

Christine blinked. "Never call me that again."

"Sure. Just never call me a fop again."

"I didn't mean it, sweetie."

Erik was coming to. "Ugh... urk..."

"_Track down this murderer! He must be found!"_ sang the oncoming mob wrathfully. Erik snapped out of his stupor. He stood up on the cold, wet ground.

"Go... forget me... forget all of this... marry him, if you wish," he heard himself saying. Christine and Raoul left on his boat in a heartbeat, singing, "_Say you love me..._"

The Phantom realized then that his feet were colder than usual. "What the... why are my feet wet? My shoes are floating in the lake! Argh! No time to get them, either! Wait... what am I supposed to do now?"

The music box began to play. "Oh, right."

He listened to his odd monkey music box. "Masquerade, paper faces on parade, masquerade, yada, yada, yada... cue Christine and..."

Christine came back, holding the ring. Erik then grabbed her wrist.

"You can't leave me here alone, Christine! I--_love_ you."

"Sorry..." Christine said, giving him the ring, "...about your magical shoes."

Erik looked at her, befuddled, wondering what had happened with his shoes while he was unconscious. She left in that time. His brain kept saying, _Go after her, go after her!_

But, he did not. He stood, broken-hearted and desperate, and sang, "_You alone can make my song take flight! It's over now the music of the night!_"

Before he vanished, he vowed under his breath with a sudden feeling of vindication, "For now, my Christine... for now...and what could she have possibly meant about my shoes being magical?"

Then, he vanished, and the oncoming mob arrived. They could find nothing of him, except his mask... but it was rumored there were voices down there in his lair, that no one could describe or reason out why they were there...

_Use the force, Luke... _

_Teeheeheeheehee! Come to me, my Munchkins! (cue Munchkin laughter)_

_I am your father!_

_NOOOOOOO!!_

_I wish I was home... (click, click, click...)_

_French men are French! Ha, ha! I can be a comedian! Right, Obi Wan?_

_(slap forehead)_

**And that's why Mars should be painted purple! **(wait, that's not right...)

**The Bizarre, Yet Finally Finished, End**

**Review, and I'll review your stuff. **


	2. Phantom's Menace I

**A/N: **I toyed with it being a one-shot and continuing on, and I gave in to peer pressure and decided to continue. Phantom's Menace (yes, I admit I stole it from Star Wars, nobody sue me, please--I'm going to be a poor college student). It's really long, but it's broken up into two parts. For the next segment after "Phantom's Menace", I might throw in some Harry Potter... and maybe later High School Musical. We'll see. Read and review!

**Phantom's Menace**

_Part I_

Erik was playing his theme song on his organ. He didn't know why he liked it so much; it was just a series of five half steps down and then up. It didn't matter, really. He was just trying his hardest to drown out all the voices cascading annoyingly around his lair.

Little did he expect what disaster was about to unfold.

As Erik sat there at his organ, trying his hardest to eliminate the voices that shouldn't have been there, he suddenly heard giggling that was even louder than his organ.

He stood up and whirled around surprisingly quickly for him, clutching impulsively his Punjab lasso with a twitchy hand. He was shaking violently from his slight case of mania and paranoia. Perhaps anyone would if all one heard for a solid week were the soothing sounds of six million Munchkins giggling incessantly, never leaving one with a moment's peace, and all because some disembodied, nasally, high-pitched male voice was telling horrible French jokes and wasn't (and wouldn't) leave one's lair. Understandably, Erik couldn't take this madness much longer and was ready to crack. It was bad enough to lose Christine. He couldn't stand to lose even _more_ of the small amount of sanity he possessed as well.

He finally saw something instead of hearing just another bout of disembodied giggling and a "joke": a huge, pink bubble was approaching. He nearly jumped back and fell over his organ bench in surprise (and because of his jittery nerves), but he caught his balance and watched as the pink bubble came closer and closer. He stood for a while with a frown on his masked face, and then laughed to himself. It was in fact the most absurd thing he had seen and heard all week. But finally, he found the source of the giggling and French-joke madness: this wretchedly pink bubble. He eyed it with a crazed glint in his eye. He held his Punjab lasso out, ready to tie it up and pop it once and for all and end this insanity.

Before this event could take place, though, the pink bubble became the most disgustingly sweet, pink woman he had ever seen, standing in the lake. All he could do was blink while halfway in the act of lassoing the once bubble. The woman, though she was nearly in the lasso, did not notice him, and was looking around with vague confusion on her face.

After a few moments of awkwardly odd silence, Glinda giggled, blushing, still not noticing Erik, who was towering above her on the dock.

"Oh, dear, I've never ended up here before! Is it Tuesday already?"

Erik continued staring at her, but had slowly lowered his lasso to his side from utter bewilderment. He was trying to understand still how she had been a bubble.

_Perhaps she still is a bubble_, Erik mused as the pink woman looked around her some more obliviously and then _finally_ noticed Erik.

"Oh, excuse me," she said, giggling, "could you tell me where I am? I am trying to get to Oz. This is _quite_ an odd place, I must say...a little wet, I think."

Erik blinked at her again, his eye twitching. He then started laughing maniacally.

"Oh, I've finally lost it," he said to himself aloud. "I've finally, finally lost it. If I am hallucinating, which I simply must be, this is the most hideous, bizarre illusion my mind could ever imagine, and now it's talking to me. Oh, how I've lost it…"

The woman daftly frowned. "What have you lost?"

Erik continued laughing. He even snorted a few times. The woman studied him, and suddenly a dim light bulb short of a few watts went off.

"Hey, I know you! You were at that Death Star place last Tuesday. Your name's... Herring, right?"

Erik stopped laughing and frowned, which she could not see since he was masked. "How do you know about that? Oh, wait… you're an illusion I am somehow subconsciously inventing because I am insane, and quite obviously so. Of course you know that. Forget I wondered."

"I am not an illusion, Herring!" Glinda lightly asserted with slight indignation, stomping her foot down. It was then that she realized she was standing in the lake, in water up to her knees, nonetheless, and her indignation was forgotten.

"It's 'Erik', actually," he corrected, wondering (hoping) if perhaps he wasn't hallucinating, after all. If he invented her, wouldn't his own mind make characters that knew his name? Erik couldn't know that for sure, though.

"Oh, dear, this is dry clean only!" she said with a slight, giggling sigh. She hadn't heard him at all. She then smiled and slowly made her way to the dry land, her dress sopping wet and dripping madly.

"That's better," she said cheerfully, looking around the lair. "It is quite an odd place," she repeated.

"Who are you, now that you know who I am?"

"Why, I'm _Glinda_, the Good Witch of the North."

Erik blinked then laughed again, and so hard that he was rolling around on the floor of his lair. Glinda was becoming less and less airy at the sight of him laughing at her because finally, it was beginning to click that he was laughing, and possibly at her.

"Why do you keep laughing?"

"I'm sorry," he said, wiping a tear from his eye, "This is... I am insane, officially demented...this is ludicrous, ridiculous, even... come on, 'Good Witch of the North'..."

Glinda huffed, and was about to tell him something when she dropped her wand. She looked up, as if it floated above her head, and then remembered the laws of gravity and looked down. Low and behold, it was at her feet, floating in a puddle made by her dress. After processing all this, she then went down to pick it up. As she was wrapping her hand around the handle, she frowned…for a long time. Erik had now stopped laughing and was standing...standing... _standing..._

Erik was quickly becoming annoyed with the fact that she was squatting on the floor at his feet, her hand half-way around her wand, wearing a perplexed frown on her face. Again, the thought entered his brain: perhaps he was not imagining this. It seemed more plausible now. She seemed way too daft for someone his mind could--or would--imagine.

After a minute more of this lovely and suspenseful position, Erik decided it best to say something.

"What are you _doing_ down there?!" he asked impatiently.

"Where are your shoes?" she finally asked.

Erik sighed and looked to the Heavens pleadingly.

"Is that all? Is that why you were down there for so long?"

"Hmm... you know, that is a good question. I don't remember why I was down here," Glinda replied, now frowning harder in an attempt to remember, her hand still almost clutching her wand.

"I don't know why, either, so why don't you just pick up your wand and--"

"Oh, right, _that's_ why!"

Erik slapped his forehead and mumbled something which Glinda did not hear or notice.

"But what happened to your shoes?"

"Why do you care so much?"

"I love shoes and specialize in magic shoes," Glinda said proudly. "You can judge character quite accurately by what shoes someone's wearing, and your shoes are missing, so I assume--"

"My shoes are somewhere at the bottom of the lake, ok? Are you satisfied now, oh Shoe Mistress?"

"Shoe Mistress?" Glinda giggled. Erik looked at his Punjab lasso. Someone was going to have to die if she didn't leave.

"Why are they there? Don't you know they belong on your feet?"

Erik sighed.

"They were in the lake when I found out I wasn't wearing them, and it was too late to get them. It was kind of hard to take a refreshing swim to retrieve them when that angry mob that wanted to kill me was coming for a visit."

"Oh, I see now," Glinda said, not catching a word of Erik's explanation, "Christine didn't put them back on you when she was done, didn't she?" Glinda asked casually, picking up her wand (finally!) and standing.

Erik was now confused and frowned harder. His forehead was beginning to hurt. "And what do you mean by that?"

"You were unconscious at the time. Christine put on your shoes to get back here."

Erik blinked. It was all he could do. He was really hoping that he wasn't insane and that he wasn't imagining this, for if he was, she would never leave, and nothing would ever make sense again... if anything ever made sense before.

Suddenly, a loud giggling of Munchkins echoed in his lair, causing Erik to get skitters. His eye also began to twitch.

"_WILL YOU EVER_--"

"Oh, my Munchkins, come to me!" Glinda said fondly, looking around for them, once again, above her head.

Erik backed away from her, decisively deciding then and there that he was not insane: _she_ was.

"What on earth are 'Munchkins'?"

"Don't you know anything?" she said, losing a bit of her fluffiness and putting her hands on her hips. Suddenly, her eyes dawned with slight comprehension. "Oh, you're not from Oz."

"What the heck is _Oz_?! And how did you manage to get down here, anyway?"

Glinda was steadily losing patience. She was irritated, first of all, by the fact that he wasn't wearing shoes, and then to make it worse, he kept holding this rope above her head as though she would wear that hideous thing, and not to mention she had the feeling that he might be laughing at her.

"I am a witch, and a _Good_ Witch, at that. I have a title, Mister Shoeless..." Glinda paused to giggle at the name, and then continued. "_And_ I got here by bubble power. How _else_ could I get here? And Oz is a magical place somewhere over the rainbow, that some girl got to by means of a tornado from Kansas, wherever _that_ is."

Erik blinked. Then he began to laugh uncontrollably.

"What is so funny?" Glinda asked with uncharacteristic impatience. Her pink dress began turning black. She noticed it, and tried smiling and giggling, which restored some pink to her costume.

Erik couldn't respond. He was rolling around on the floor at the absurdity of it, of her, snorting away.

"Come now, answer me!" she said, putting her hands on her hips. Her dress was turning black again, which she was trying so hard to prevent, but was ultimately failing.

Erik only laughed harder at the sight of her changing colors.

"I suppose you got that dress somewhere over the rainbow, huh?" he mused in between gasps for breath and bouts of laughter. "Do your shoes change color, too, or is it just the dress?"

That was the straw that broke the Scarecrow's back.

The transformation was complete. Her silver-star wand became a broom, course and rough. Her peach-white skin became green, a most awkward and horrid blend of pea-green and peach. Her daft and cheery face became crooked and warty. Her dress became an odd shade of pink-black. Her crown became a crooked witch hat. Her perfect and curly blonde hair became grunge-purple dreadlocks, and her brown eyes turned orange.

"_Silence_!" she said, her once marshmallow voice now a demonic two-tone. Thunder and lightning cracked, and a cloud of smoke appeared off in Erik's peripheral vision. Erik frowned, having stopped laughing and started coughing on the smoke. Once the smoke dissipated, he noticed a green curtain in his lair that did not fit in with his Gothic look. He began to stand up.

"Hey, when did that--"

"_PAY NO ATTENTION TO THAT, DEARIE_!" Glinda cried, floating, a green aura surrounding her.

Erik stifled a laugh, brushing the dust off of himself.

"You may want to lay off that rainbow perfume. It's a bit strong."

Glinda's orange eyes glinted with a sudden case of doom, and her purple dreadlocks squirmed around like snakes on her head. Thunder and lightning flashed in the lair. Erik wondered where it was coming from, since well, they were in the lair below the Opera House.

"_You have invoked the wrath of Glinda! Therefore, a curse, dearie, a curse shall descend upon you_!"

"What sort of curse?" Erik asked, skeptical that this woman who had arrived in a pink bubble, of all things, could do any serious damage. Besides, he was the Phantom. What sort of curse could be worse than the one he already had? And why did she suddenly keep calling him, 'dearie'?

"_You'll find out_," she said, her newly sinister lip curling into a smile. "_And it will be your_ **worst nightmare**!"

Erik rolled his eyes and yawned. Glinda turned to the curtain dramatically, not noticing.

"_Come, slave_!" she cried.

"Do I have to?" said a deep voice behind the curtain.

"**Yes**!" she boomed, cackling. Erik was still unimpressed.

The green curtain was pushed aside. Darth Vader came out, wearing big band-aids on his damaged suit. The special effects on Glinda ceased, and she landed on the ground with a thud.

"Anakin!" Erik said with slight surprise. "What happened to you?"

"Your _girlfriend_, that's what," he said.

"She's not my girlfriend," Erik said, looking down, clenching his fist around the Punjab lasso at the thought of Christine. "How did you become Queen Rainbow-Woman's slave?"

"I AM NOT 'QUEEN RAINBOW-WOMAN'!! ...Though I must admit, it has a nice ring to it... I AM GLINDA, THE GOOD WITCH OF THE NORTH!!!!"

"Not anymore," muttered Vader, seeing her new look.

"SILENCE, SLAVE!!! You're lucky enough you landed in Oz. If you hadn't, who knows where you'd be right now?"

"Floating in space, that's where, and frankly, I think I'd rather--"

"Not another word!" she commanded. She then turned to Erik and cackled. "You'll see what the curse is all in good time, dearie."

Erik turned to Vader.

"How bad is this 'curse' going to be, exactly?"

Vader shook his head.

"Come now," Erik said with a slight laugh, "it can't be _that_--"

"HEY!" Glinda cried, getting up in Vader's face. "Do you want to be outsourced for those monkeys I once hated because they belonged to a wicked witch but now strangely in a wicked way I adore and wish to own as my own personal slaves to keep as pets in my lovely pink castle in Oz because well I was thinking about redecorating anyway and monkeys would add a nice touch don't you think well you asked you anyway besides you're just a slave and you mustn't associate with him because right now he's my enemy and that makes you his enemy too SO THERE!!"

Glinda gasped for breath after that long run on sentence that almost made no sense because she said it so quickly.

"Monkeys?" Erik asked with raised eyebrows. It was all he managed to catch.

"You don't want to know."

"NO MORE TALKING! FAREWELL!"

Glinda then cackled. When she wound down, the three of them just stared at each other, but mostly at Glinda. Glinda glared at Vader wrathfully.

"Come on! You're my special effects guy!"

"But you said--"

"NO EXCEPTIONS!!! GET BEHIND THAT CURTAIN PRONTO!!!"

Vader groaned, mumbling, and went behind the curtain and waited for her cue.

"Are you ready now, Miss Queen of the Universe?" he asked sarcastically.

"You know, I think you used that one on Raoul already," Erik commented.

"Silence," she said to Erik. She then looked to Vader, batting her eyes. "I'm not that _yet_, dearie, but yes, go ahead," she said, giggling at the thought of a compliment. She _then_ cackled and disappeared in a puff of smoke and a crack of lightning.

Vader walked around the curtain and began to wade in the water after her when Erik stopped him.

"Hey, why don't you stay and help me face this 'curse'? And how did you _get_ here, anyway?"

"I don't exactly know myself. I was in Oz reading 'Wicked Weekly' and an article that said, 'Are you trying to take over a castle of a Good Witch with your merry band of Storm Troopers?' when poof! I was sucked up in a wormhole. It was odd."

"What is up with those wormholes and mysterious forces lately?"

Vader shrugged. "Anyway, I'm hoping to get back to finish that article, seeing how it is relevant to my life, and--oh, I'm silly. Can I borrow your shoes? They're the only way I know of getting back there...oh, you're not wearing them?"

"They're at the bottom of the lake," Erik responded unthinkingly, with an eyebrow raised at the strange request.

"Oh, ok. You don't mind if I borrow them, do you?"

"Not at all, I guess. But it's really a shame that you can't stay."

Vader shrugged. "I'll stop by on the next wormhole, or if I find your shoes, I'll figure out how to work them and get back here."

"Ok," Erik said, unsure of how he would manage to accomplish a feat like that. "Bye."

Vader said good-bye, but as he had been steadily walking forward, water was now over his head and he was underwater.

Erik sat down at the organ and began playing music. Suddenly, he wondered something.

_Why the heck is everyone was so interested in my shoes_?

After a few minutes of "beats me" silence, he shrugged and continued playing.

**End of Part I**


	3. Phantom's Menace II

**A/N:** I do solemnly swear that this will be hilarious if you are annoyed by the super-insane phangirls that you find often here on fan fiction. please, read on.

**Phantom's Menace**

_Part II_

It was one week later, and no 'curse' had followed. Erik considered it now an empty threat made by a pink bubble.

He was playing on his organ...again. The voices in his lair had gently subsided, and he only heard every now and then some kid snorting and laughing about France. Blasting organ music, again, solved that problem.

He suddenly and mysteriously began to get that feeling he was being watched. He didn't know why. After a week of being stalked by invisible Munchkins, he reasonably chose to ignore it for his sanity's sake.

Suddenly, he heard a voice, which made him jump five feet in the air off his organ bench and then hit twelve wrong notes.

"_Well, dearie, prepare yourself, for the curse is now at hand_!"

"You know, you never quite explained this curse," he said.

"_It needs no explanation_! _Good-bye_!!" she shrieked quickly. Glinda then laughed maniacally and said no more.

Erik sat there in silence for a moment, and then shook his head and continued playing.

_Yup, she was a crazy one, all right_, he thought.

Suddenly, he heard someone coming across the lake on the boat. He turned around, highly alarmed.

_What is this, Intrude On Erik's Privacy Week?_ he thought in exasperation. _I'll never get anything done around here if people keep deciding to drop by for a visit. _

Erik sighed loudly, rolling his eyes, and proceeded to hide himself with a lasso, of course, in hand.

The boat docked, and a girl dressed very oddly came out.

'Dressed very oddly' meant she was covered head to toe with Phantom of the Opera memorabilia.

"Oh my gosh," she said, shaking in awe of the dusty and somewhat dirty lair. "I have a feeling I'm not in Kansas anymore. I'm here. I'm in his lair. Oh my gosh, this isn't happening. This isn't happening! Oh, my gosh, oh, my gosh, Oh, MY GOSH!!!! THIS IS LIKE, THE BEST FREAKING DAY OF MY LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFE!"

Erik frowned as he proceeded to hear excited squeals and see some disturbing dancing.

"Okay, I don't know what she thinks she's seeing, but this has got to stop, _now_."

Erik came out of hiding just in time to stop her from playing on his organ.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!!" he bellowed, threateningly holding the lasso. She fell over and just as quickly hopped back up and into his arms.

"Oh my gosh. Oh, my GOSH!!! IT'S _YOU_! _AUGH_!!! IT'S _GERRY_!!!"

Erik frowned and tried to pry her off with a surprising amount of difficulty. "I am _not_ 'Gerry', I am--"

"Come on, Gerry, you Scot, I know you're _so hot_ underneath that mask, and like, you _tooooootally_ love me now, because I am a fan fiction writer and I _looooooove_ the 2004 movie with Andrew Lloyd Webber, and I say so."

Before Erik could say anything to her, some strange Supreme Author Power granted by fan fiction to this girl forced him to say in a robotic monotone, "You are right, Tracie, I love you, and so much more than Christine, and you are so hot, and you can sing just like Christine if not better, and--"

"Oh, _Gerry_!" she then proceeded to 'make out' with him, against his will.

Time seemed to stop for Erik as he broke down the strange chain of events that just occurred. For one, he didn't even know who she was—he thought he said her name was Tracie, but really, it could have been anything. He had almost no control over himself. He secondly was confused by her choice in apparel. Images of his mask were plastered all over her. And so many people thought _he_ was the creepy stalker. Three, he didn't know what fan fiction was, or what a movie was. Finally, who was this '_Gerry', _who she referred to as a Scot? He didn't really want to take the time to find out. He just wanted this all to end--_NOW_.

Erik knew there was only one way of saving himself from this—this deranged _maniac_. However, she did it for him. She ripped off his mask to get a better look at his 'hotness' (as she described it) as she was attacking him, and then fully beheld him.

Instead of seeing 'Gerry' (_whoever that is_, Erik thought), she saw a head that looked more like a skull. He took great pleasure as she screamed and shrunk in horror to the other side of the lair. Erik laughed, regaining the power of volition once more.

"Stupid, foolish girl! I don't know who you think you are to sneak down here, or how you managed to, but you--"

Suddenly, he felt arms wrap around him from behind which prevented him from lassoing Tracie.

"_GERRY_!!!" the second assailant screeched, "YOU ARE LIKE, SO HOT!!!!"

"_Another_ one?" he said mostly to himself, trying to pry her off.

Tracie tried giving her a pleading look from the corner, but the poor phangirl was completely oblivious to her warnings, thinking only of Gerard Butler and how she was going to replace the role of Emmy Rossum.

When Erik turned around in a rather violent and quick manner, the phangirl immediately planted a huge kiss on him before he could react and before she saw his face.

He finally threw her off of him and she then saw his face. She also screamed bloody murder, and now that she was looking at everything else other than the Phantom, she noticed Tracie and scurried over to her for safety. The two phangirls huddled next to each other for safety.

Erik was becoming less and less amused at this situation, and he wasn't amused to begin with.

"Alright, this madness has to stop. I--"

"GERRY!!" said a chorus of girls behind him.

He winced.

_Ok, how many this time?_ he thought, trying to be rational.

He slowly turned around and saw the lair totally, absolutely, _completely_ filled with them, as far as the eye can see.

Words could not describe exactly how he felt, but the words he swore are not suitable to repeat for the rating of this story.

Amazingly, the phangirl mob was not yet looking at him directly. They were all fighting each other trying to get to him first, splashing around in the lake, and arguing who he liked best.

Upon perceiving all this, he did the one thing he could: he fled to a backroom, but as he was going, he grabbed a hostage, Tracie, by the wrist and dragged her along. This was going to end, no matter what it took.

Once safely inside, he skillfully bolted the door shut several times and lit a candle.

"Sit," he ordered her fiercely. She obeyed, fear flickering in her eyes.

"Who are you?" he spat vilely. "And who are _they_?"

"Um… we're all from We're all phangirls. My name is Tracie."

"What is fan fiction dot net? And what are fan girls?"

"Well, phangirls are like, fans of the Phantom of the opera, like, the actual Phantom, not just like, the story. It's spelled with a 'ph' instead of an 'f'… it's like a pun."

Erik didn't look amused. Tracie gulped and continued. "And is, like, a writing site. We're all writers. I tried getting you to fall in love with me in my phanphic... spelled with 'ph', not 'f', of course..."

"So I see," he said, wishing he had some soap or something to wash his mouth out with. "Do these 'phanphics' happen a lot on there?"

"Uh… kind of," she said quietly.

Erik blinked and then began massaging his forehead while again swearing under his breath. His forehead had been in splitting pain ever since he over-exerted his frowning muscles during his meeting with Glinda last week, and this stress was making it worse.

"By the way, why am I being called 'Gerry'?"

"Oh, Gerard Butler," she giggled, blushing. Erik gave her a sharp look and her joviality ceased. "He played you in a movie."

"And what on earth is a movie?"

"It's pretty much, like, a play you can, like, watch in your own house, on a box called a television… or like, in my case, on my cell phone."

Erik blinked, not comprehending practically anything she said. He decided to move on.

"And this Andrew Lloyd…uh..."

"Webber—he wrote all the music for the movie and the London and Broadway productions."

"Really," he said, sidetracked. "I'm a production? Why on earth—whatever. Is the music any good?"

"We, like, think so, especially when Gerry and Emmy sing it!"

"Emmy?" he asked with a frown.

"She, like, played Christine."

At the sound of her name, he subconsciously clenched his fist, which Tracie picked up on, simply because it's just always good to notice subtleties when someone is possibly going to kill you.

"I'm sorry she left you! We all, like, hate Raoul! He's such a fop. But we all, like—"

"Can you use one sentence without the word 'like' in it?" he asked impatiently, fidgeting with his lasso and massaging his forehead.

"I'll, like—sorry. I'll li--try. But as I was saying, we li--try to write stories where you two get together."

"That doesn't change reality," he grumbled. He stared at Tracie coldly for a moment. It was exactly then that the 'best freaking day of her life' transitioned into the worst one of Tracie's existence.

"_Well, dearie, you'd better get on that door_!" cackled Glinda suddenly out of the blue (or, rather, the black), surprising Erik again, causing him to knock over the candle, causing it to go out, causing the two people in the room to temporarily go blind due to the lack of light. The door suddenly was being pounded on from the other side.

"Let me in there!" begged one.

"Gerry! Gerry!" one cooed, and many others chanted.

"SAY YOU LOVE ME!" screamed one desperate phangirl.

"_Well, dearie_?" Glinda said, cackling.

"I'm getting there, you witch!" Erik roared impatiently, his eyesight returning to him.

"_Oh, that's the nicest thing you've said all day_," Glinda giggled, for a split second almost becoming good.

"I didn't mean it as a compliment, you twit," Erik blurted out before he realized what he said.

"_Oh_." Glinda became wicked again. "_Then prepare for a wrath even _**worse**!"

Erik felt like banging his head against the wall for being stupid as Glinda cackled.

"Who is talking?" Tracie asked, knowing that Erik didn't have a P.A. system in his lair for a fact, since she had watched the movie 567,899 times exactly.

"_It's none of your business, dearie_!"

"WOULD YOU STOP CALLING US ALL 'DEARIE'?!!!" Erik shouted with a raised fist.

"_You'd like that, wouldn't you? Then of course not, _**dearie**_! Heeheehee_!"

And then Glinda's voice was gone.

"I really, _really_ hate her," Erik grumbled, clenching his teeth.

"Who _was_ that?"

"Glinda, the Bimbo Queen of the North, that's who."

"_Glinda_? You mean, as in the Good Witch of the North?"

Erik sharply looked at Tracie. "You _know _her?"

"Well… she was lik--in a movie that practically the whole _world_ has seen, _The Wizard of Oz_. It's a classic, duh."

Erik blinked. "I think you see too many movies."

"Well, it's a _thing_. _Everybody_ watches them."

Erik suddenly got an idea. He then grinned most creepily and wickedly at Tracie. Tracie wouldn't have been too fond of that smile if her eyes had already adjusted to see it in the dark.

"Do you think _they _will all pretty much do the same thing if pressured?"

"Only if it involves _The Phantom of the Opera _movie with Gerard Butler."

The door was beginning to splinter and the voices were becoming louder, more desperate.

"LET ME IIIIIIIIINNNN!!!!"

"OUT OF MY WAY!"

"FRESHMAN!"

"Am not!"

"GERRY! GERRY!"

"Muffins!"

"I don't have much time for this," Erik said with an annoyed sigh, taking out his Punjab lasso.

"What are you going to do with that?" Tracie asked, feeling the rope around her neck.

"Be silent and still if you want to live."

Tracie did both as she was tied up by Erik.

"Now, you say you have that movie on your... phone?"

"_The Wizard of Oz_? No, but--"

"NO! I—oh, my... Why, just why? Why me? _The Phantom of the Opera_!"

Erik suddenly felt weird talking about himself in the third person.

"Oh, yeah… um… I need to get to my phone, which is that shiny silver thing in my pocket."

Erik stared at her.

"I can't get it. You tied me up."

Erik rolled his eyes and handed it to her after taking it from her pocket.

"Get that movie on there, now."

"Ok, hold on."

"You have 10 seconds."

"_What_?! Are you _crazy_?"

Erik wondered if he should take that as a rhetorical question or as a sign of disrespect. Tracie didn't say anything else but instead focused on getting that movie up on her phone.

The door finally was broken down and opened and a torrential flood of soaked, scratched, and crazed girls came in. Erik took his cue and quickly retreated into the darkness of the room. He needed to get to his supply closet in the back where all the spare lassoes were, anyway.

"Where is Gerry?" one crazed girl demanded of Tracie, who was all tied up in the noose and all the works. She apparently did not notice all the rope work.

"He'll be, uh, right back, but he said watch the movie… here."

She turned her phone around which was playing the movie.

"Are you kidding me?" one chubby girl remarked, her hands on her hips. "I have the DVD with me."

"AND I HAVE A DVD PLAYER!!!" another squealed. "WE CAN SO WATCH IT _RIGHT NOW_!!!!!!"

All the twenty or fifty phangirls agreed that it was a wonderful idea, since 'Gerry' was no where to be found. They all plopped down in front of the small screen.

It was then that Tracie decided she was no longer a phangirl and put her phone back in her pocket with some difficulty, considering the fact that she was tied up and no one was taking notice of her now.

---

Erik came back from the supply closet and found the fifty to one hundred girls sitting in front of a DVD player, totally absorbed in the film.

He was about to easily claim his first lasso victim when he heard Gerard Butler sing. It was like hearing fingernails on a blackboard to him.

"They chose _him_ to play me?! He can't even sing! Furthermore, he doesn't even _look_ like me!"

Not only was it _Invade Erik's Privacy Week_, but today was _Stupid Day_, in more ways than one, for Erik. Before he could slap his forehead at the fatuity of his thoughtless remark, the hundred to two hundred phangirls quickly whirled around in creepily simultaneous fashion at the sound of his voice. Since it was dark, they could not see his face.

"IT'S HIM!!!!"

"Actually, 'it is he' is the correct grammar," said Erik, not knowing why he didn't just lasso the whole bunch of them right then and there instead.

"OH, MY GOSH, HE CORRECTED MY GRAMMAR!!! HE LIKES ME BEST!!! _AHHHHHH_!"

The girl fainted. By then, no one was paying attention to her, though.

"GET HIM!!!!" the rest shouted in a chorus. They began to sing, "_Track down this hot Gerry! He must be mine_!"

_This is almost as bad as that mob that wanted to kill me, _Erik thought.

He heard a cackling above.

_No. I take that back. This is a thousand times worse. I think I'd rather be dead right now. This truly is a curse worse than the one I have. _

Suddenly, Erik felt some pity for Gerard Butler.

"_No one to save you now, _**dearie**_! Heheheheheheheheehe_!"

"That's where you're wrong!" said a static voice coming from the door.

"Anakin! I thought you were at Oz!" Erik said in surprise, but was then quickly buried by the phangirls.

"I was," Vader began calmly, "but you see, I finished reading that article, and my Storm Troopers are raiding her castle now. I'll set up my Death Star Base Thing-y in Oz once I am victorious, and I'll give you your shoes back once you take care of... this interesting problem you've got there," Vader said, unsure of what exactly to call it, though 'brouhaha' might have worked nicely.

Erik lassoed some girls, some of which were staring at Darth Vader at the time and didn't notice a thing. He couldn't do it very well, though, and some of them escaped the loose nooses; this was mostly because he was being tackled mercilessly, which made this whole activity a little more difficult.

"You know," Erik said, trying to keep his head above them all and lasso a few at the same time. "You could help me, if you really wanted to."

"Oh," Vader said. "Sure."

He took out his red light saber.

At the sight of the glowing, red saber, half the girls in the room flooded out in mass exodus and jumped into the lake in an attempt to escape. The rest that continued suffocating Erik had a less happy fate: Erik's monkey music box began to play (as it did every day at 4 o'clock), and all fifty rabid phangirls left lifted up their heads—simultaneously, nonetheless—like the moles on a whack-a-mole game, and in that brief moment of distraction they were all trapped in invisible Punjab lassos, all thanks to Darth Vader.

Erik stood up (for he had just recently been finally and fully tackled to the ground) and patted the dirt off his clothes. He went over to Vader and patted him on the shoulder.

"Alright. Now that that is settled, let's just lock them up in here and deal with them later. I have quite a headache."

"Sounds good to me," Vader said, letting Erik leave the room first, and then stepping out himself.

"Wait, Erik, what about me?" Tracie cried frantically. "Don't leave me stranded here with--with _them_!"

Erik stood for a moment in indecision. He was, after all, a murderer. He was not supposed to have pity on his victims. For a split second, her pleading eyes reminded him of Christine...

He therefore told Vader to lock the door on them all. Once the door was locked, all the girls were taken out of their invisible lassoes, and the ones that Erik lassoed just simply walked out of the nooses, and the girls began to fight amongst themselves as to who Erik liked best once more… all except for Tracie, that is, who was still expertly roped down. Tracie, left in the dark with a bunch of crazed, gasping, fighting phangirls, vowed revenge on her once-beloved Erik at all costs.

---

"Well," Glinda said, back to her regular self, "I suppose I can accept your apology, especially since you're wearing shoes again... they're really shiny. I approve."

"I suppose they would be 'really shiny', since they were doused in water for about a week," Erik replied with clenched teeth which held back his true feelings, "And my apologies are heartfelt and sincere, on the condition that every single last one of these..." Erik searched for a word, but found none satisfactory. "Only if every last one of these returns to Bimboland—I mean, Oz—with you, or wherever they came from, and they _don't ever ever come back_...ever."

"It's agreed," she said, giggling. "Well, I guess I'm off to Oz… I hope I don't end up here again, no offense. That monkey over there is positively weird, I must say," she said, pointing over to the music box.

_Oh, the irony,_ Erik thought, rolling his eyes. But it didn't matter. She was finally leaving, and hopefully never coming back.

"Anyway, there's no place like Oz, but unfortunately, I just can't seem to get to Oz on the first try! At least on Tuesdays, that is."

"I likewise hope that you don't end up back here again," Erik said, smiling so she mistook it for a friendly notion. It was easier to fake since he was wearing his mask again.

Without a further word, she pulled on a rope which Erik handed her. On it were all the phangirls that had been rounded up. Glinda became a giggling pink bubble and the girls floated on in little pink bubbles behind her. They never did get to see their Gerry without a mask on, besides two of them, much to their obsessive and creepy dismay.

Erik watched the bubbles float off in silent satisfaction, until he noticed that the last one was green. He frowned.

"Odd," he commented to Vader.

"Yes," Darth Vader replied, polishing his light saber's hilt on his cape. "That Glinda is quite… a character," he said, for lack of better words.

Erik was about to tell him that's not what he meant, but instead, he came up with an idea.

"Say, Raoul and Christine are supposed to be married in another week or so, and I have not yet been able to come up with any good ideas to stop the wedding and get Christine to see that she should marry me instead. Perhaps you can help me."

"A splendid notion," Vader said, sheathing his saber. "My Storm Troopers can handle setting up a base in Oz without me. I told them to convince Glinda that she was made Queen of the Universe. She'll be thrilled and won't interfere with the power shift, one can only hope. Oz is soon going to be renamed the Emerald Empire. Maybe you can visit someday, now that you have your shoes back."

"Yeah," Erik said, still not understanding what was so important about his shoes. "Now, you really have to teach me that invisible Punjab lasso trick."

"Ah," he said, "so you wish to become my apprentice?" Vader chuckled like the evil master he always wanted to be. "I always wanted an apprentice... but alas, poor Luke, I knew him well... ok, not really, he died before I ever got to know him. I have a feeling that he wouldn't have joined me anyway, since I read the original script that we didn't follow. Oh, well, who needs an apprentice with a pink saber, anyway? Let the training begin."

Together, Darth Vader and Erik shared an evil, maniacal laugh.

_---_

Tracie sat down at her computer, having just been brought back to reality from a horrible day in the Munchkinland equivalent to Ellis Island. Her feeling of vengeance and hate was still strong, and she needed to write something devastating to get it out of her system.

She was crossing over to the Dark Side of phanphic writing. She now hated the Phantom as much as she hated Raoul. It was time for payback, and in the biggest way she could think of. She needed to write about a disaster beyond anyone's imagination that killed both Phantom and Raoul so fantastically, no one could mistake the fact that they were ultimately dead and NEVER coming back, ever... ever. Ever.

She smiled wickedly as a dark muse inspired her to write a new fan fiction story. Erik would not live to see another day. And neither would Raoul. She laughed maniacally and began to type...

**Read and Review, dearies! There is more to come! As I said before, I'm thinking about adding some Harry Potter and High School Musical... if you think of anything else I can throw in to parody, then you're welcome to send in suggestions! **


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